In for a Penny
by She Ain't No Blondie
Summary: Cullen thought his life had ended at the Circle. Now he has the chance to strike a deal. A bridge between DA and DA2.


Cullen has become quite a beer connoisseur since he left the Tower. He knows his ales from his stouts, and his lagers from his pilsners. He has found that if you decide to forgo being a Templar, the world has an array of lovely options to entertain you with.

Which is why he is currently drunk out of his mind, and aware there is a dainty boot keeping him pinned to the floor.

Sometimes he misses his sword.

"You can get off me," he murmures, but it sounds more like, "Mrmrh phhg amrl me."

"You're _drunk_," a voice accuses.

"You're a mage," he responds.

The boot lifts off him. "You look awful, Cullen."

Cullen stares down at the mage in front of him, and his eyes widen in recognition. "Oh, no, not _you_."

Amell rolls her eyes. "You can call me Warden-Commander, if you like. But Amell will do just fine, if you remember me."

"Of course I remember you!" he hisses. "What are you doing here? You—you're not here for _me_, are you? I didn't kill those mages!"

He plants his feet firmly in the ground, even though he can't quite focus. He may not have a sword, but he has at least fifty pounds of muscle over her.

"Cullen, relax," Amell says, raising her hands, no staff. "I'm here on friendly terms. Um, somewhat. We were friends, remember?"

Cullen splutters indignantly, trying to form his words into sentences. "We were not _friends_, you stupid girl. I was your Templar—your warden!" He takes deep breathes, trying to regain his composure. "Whatever I said—back then—it was the stress and the visions, and I do not like you."

Amell glares at him, and he's painfully aware of how beautiful her eyes are. "Listen," she says, through gritted teeth. "I am Warden-Commander, and you will treat me with respect."

He huffs at her, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not a Grey Warden. Your status means nothing to me."

"Fine! You're from Ferelden, are you not?"

Cullen senses a trap, but his pride says, "Yes."

"Well, I'm Queen of that, so at least treat me with respect for that title," she snaps.

Cullen is aware that his brain must be melting. "Of _that_?" he repeats, slowly. "Of _what_?"

"Of Ferelden, you idiot!" Now Amell is taking deep breaths, and Cullen is happy she doesn't seem to have her staff with her, because he's pretty sure she would have hexed him by now. "If you weren't constantly in a drunken stupor, maybe you'd have time to keep abreast of current events."

"Isn't it—isn't it _illegal_ for a mage to be Queen?" he asks, stupidly.

"Not when your husband is king," she says, dryly.

Cullen thinks that now might be a good time to sober up, because clearly the world has gone insane in the past few months. "All right," he says, deciding it might be to his benefit to be the calm one, "all right. Um, your highness, _why are you here_?"

Amell's shoulders relax, and she offers him a wary smile. "Most of our mages have fled to Kirkwall during the blight, and now the Knight-Commander there won't release them back to us. She's a horrid woman, really, but I can't step in, because as a Grey Warden I have to be the neutral party. And Alistair has tried to be diplomatic her, but she's has too much power over him with the quantity of refugees she still has."

Cullen nods. It's not all entirely news to him, drunken stupor or not, he knows a lot of people who fled north to Kirkwall. He had played with the idea as well.

"We have asked both Greagoir and Irving to reason, but they're so overwhelmed trying to piece back together the Tower here." Amell sighs. "Look, Cullen, I thought of you because you were always so sensible and trustworthy. Maybe I was wrong, maybe I shouldn't have come here."

He reaches out and quickly grabs her, because he's afraid if he doesn't she'll leave. That she'll go back to her stupid husband in his stupid castle, and he'll be left to his beer.

"What do you want me to do?" he croaks out.

"Alistair has written a letter of recommendation to Meredith suggesting you as Knight Captain. We would like you to keep an eye on her and what is going on under her command. It sounds as neither Templar nor Mage is stable down there, and that could have repercussions for all of us."

Cullen is trying to read her expression. He is positive that this must be some joke against him. "I'm no longer a Templar," he says, carefully.

"If you accept, your status will be reinstated. Knight Captain, as you know, is a very high position within Templars." Amell has the grace to blush. "I'm sure you would have made it on your own should circumstances have been different."

"What exactly do you expect to gain out of this?" Cullen won't ignore the fire that seems to burn inside of him again, the need to have a purpose.

Amell opens her mouth, and then closes it again as she seems to carefully consider her words. "In Kirkwall, there is a… well, we're not sure who he is, but he's gaining a lot of reputation. An, um, _acquaintance_ of the Grey Wardens wrote to me, saying that he should be looked out for."

"Is he another mage?" Cullen can't help the sneer.

Amell ignores him. "He is not, but he does have mages in the family."

There's an uneasy pause in the air as they stare at each other.

"Will this give me a reason to see you again?" he finally asks.

Amell gives him a stunned expression. "I have no reason to be in Kirkwall," she says, carefully, "but if you were to return to Ferelden afterwards, I would very much like to try and rebuild our friendship."

He nods, because that is more than he could ask for. "Very well," he finally answers. "I will do as you and the King ask. But I ask for something in return."

Amell raises an eyebrow, but nods.

"If I return from Kirkwall, and if I still desire so, I would like to be made a Grey Warden," he says. He's sure of it, has thought of it over and over again.

"It's not an easy life," Amell says, almost too quietly. "I would not wish it on anyone, Cullen."

"Do we have a deal, Warden-Commander?"

Amell nods and reaches her hand out. Her fingers are small and soft against his more calloused hand, but he shakes it, and they've made a deal.

"I will have the letter and some armor delivered to your room," Amell says. She fingers the sash on her robe nervously. "Thank you, Cullen. You are doing us a great favor. I hope—I hope it's not as horrible there as it might seem to be."

Cullen turns his back on her. He makes to go up the stairs again, but stops. "Just remember your end of the bargain."

Amell nods. She watches him retreat, and then says, "Cullen, make sure you stop drinking. It doesn't flatter you."

Cullen does, but not because she told him to.


End file.
